


Turn the Lights Off

by Spiderwiz



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Fanfiction, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27077443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderwiz/pseuds/Spiderwiz
Summary: Curuaras, a presumed Noldor elf, awakes in a small human village with no memory of anything other than a name. The family who found him is very kind, but he just wants to get home--where ever home is. And as danger lurks around the corner, will Curuaras be a help to this village, or a hinderance? And will he regain his memories?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Turn the Lights Off

Curuaras...Curuaras...That name was sitting at the tip of his tongue as soon as he stirred to consciousness. It was dark; why couldn’t he see? Oh, his eyes were still shut. It took him a moment to open them. His eyelids felt very heavy. They were weighing down on him, pleading with him to go back to sleep.

No. Something told him that he had been asleep for far too long already. 

With his eyes now open, he was immediately blinded by, from what he could tell with his bleariness, was sunlight streaming in from a window. 

He tried to move his hand while his eyes adjusted to the light of the room. His whole body felt sluggish and stiff, like he had been trampled by something. It was scorching, yet he was bundled in several blankets. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a minute or two, he was able to sit up. His head spun and he felt a bit nauseous, but at least now he was able to see the room. 

The bed he was in was small and creaked everytime he moved. The mattress seemed to be made with straw, and his pillow out of feathers. There was a small table to his right that held a mug of water and a clay pitcher, along with a leather-bound book. The room was quite small, so other than that, there wasn’t much else in it.   
Where was he? Nothing about this seemed familiar. “Where--where…?” he tried to muster out, but his throat was sore, likely from not drinking water in who knows how long, and his words just came out as more of a croak. 

Slowly, he reached for the mug of water next to the bed. Either it was much heavier than he thought it would be, or he was much weaker than he expected, but next thing he knew--CRASH--It fell to the ground and shattered into tiny little pieces.

He jumped back in surprise, hitting his back against the wall. “Rhaich,” he muttered. Curses. He was sure that wherever he was, this wasn’t his room, and whoever’s room it was would be angry when they found the broken mug. 

He wasn’t sure what to do now—hide the pieces, maybe—but before he could do anything, he heard the approaching sound of footsteps as the door creaked open. A woman entered, with a young child following close behind her. He couldn’t discern the age of this woman, but he was sure that she was the child’s mother. She had a startled look on her face, but it quickly went away as she took in the situation. 

“Oh good, you’re awake!” she said cheerfully, her face breaking into a smile as she walked over to the small bed. The words she spoke seemed strange to him, but he wasn’t sure why. 

“Mi van me?” he asked quietly, his voice still hoarse. Where are we?

The woman looked confused. It then occurred to him that they were probably speaking two different languages. He’d understood the woman, however, which meant that he must speak her language too. It took him a moment, but he managed to come up with what he assumed were the correct words. “Where are we?” he repeated, this time in her language. 

“Oh, so you do speak Westren! Good, I was beginning to worry that we wouldn’t be able to communicate with each other! That Elvish you spoke sounded beautiful though.” 

Elvish. He was an elf then? That sounded about right. He reached up and touched his ear. It was pointy, unlike the woman and child’s ears, which were round. 

It was then that a sudden burst of panic struck him. The woman was talking, but he couldn’t seem to process any of her words at the moment. 

He couldn’t remember anything. He’d hardly even remembered what he was, for crying out loud! What was he doing here? Where was he? What happened? Why couldn’t he remember a single thing? His mind was blank. Fear shot through him. He doubled over, grasping at the blankets he was under for dear life. He could hardly breath. 

He couldn’t remember anything. 

Suddenly, he felt a firm hand grasp his shoulder. He looked up to see the woman standing by his side, looking at him with concern written all over her face. “Are you okay, dear? Does something hurt? You didn’t get injured by the broken mug, did you?” 

He wanted to laugh and cry out in frustration at the same time. Hurt by the cup? He appreciated her concern, but it was much more than that. “N-no...I am fine. Except…” 

Except what? What should he tell her? The truth, he supposed, was probably best, he decided. He was silent for a moment, trying to calm down and catch his breath, before answering. 

“I—I cannot remember anything. Can you—can you tell me where I am, an ngell nîn?” Please? 

The woman’s eyebrows rose, looking surprised and worried. “You can’t remember anything? My husband and sons found you out in the woods a couple days ago. You were nearly unconscious, and they couldn’t get you to talk any sense before you collapsed. They brought you here, and you’ve been sleeping ever since...We don’t know much about elves, but we weren’t sure you would make it.” 

She helped him lean back against his pillows, before walking over to grab a broom that had been resting in a corner of the room. As she began sweeping up the broken cup, she continued to speak. “I’m glad you did though; you elves must be strong indeed. So you can’t remember anything, hm? Not even your own name?” 

“My-my name?” He racked his brain for answers. He had to remember his name at least, right? The only name he could remember was ‘Curuaras’ and he wasn’t even sure that name belonged to him. It could be the name of someone who caused him to lose his memory for all he knew. But still, it was all he had. It must be important. 

“Curuaras,” he whispered.


End file.
